A Better Sister
by Flagg1991
Summary: Faced with the realization that she will soon be going off to college, Lori makes an attempt to be a better big sister...and winds up sleeping with Lincoln.
1. Childhood's End

Revelations, by their very nature, come suddenly and with great force, usually at the oddest of hours. Lori Loud was driving her siblings to school on a warm, sun-kissed early Spring morning, the sounds of laughter, arguing, and annoyed "knock-it-offs" battering her ears when it struck her that soon, all of this would be over; she would graduate, go to college, and her siblings would exist only as voices on a telephone. The realization pierced her like a bullet, and she gasped, her chest suddenly tight. She glanced at Leni in the passenger seat; her eyes were closed and she happily brushed her hair, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. In the rearview mirror, Luna played air drums, Luan talked to her stupid dummy, Lincoln read a comic book, and Lynn gazed out the window, probably wishing she had a ball to kick. In her mind's eye, each one of them faded from existence until she was alone, their laughter lingering like the smoke of a stubbed cigarette.

She looked back at the road, her grip tightening on the wheel. She took a deep breath, but her lungs would not expand against the terrible weight now pressing against her chest. This was it. Childhood's end. In two months, she would finish high school and after that, she would fade the way her brother and sisters had in her mind.

She imagined that this must be how one feels as they lie in their deathbed, their ascent into eternity drawing closer and closer with each labored breath. So much left undone. So much left unsaid. Was she a good sister? Did she lay a solid foundation on which her relationship with the others could grow? Did she do the right things? _Say_ the right things?

Was she a good big sister?

Searching her memories, she frantically came to the realization that she hadn't. She loved her siblings and she tried to be there for them, but there were times when she isolated herself from them, times when she used them, manipulated them, made them do her chores in exchange for rides, acted petty, childish. One time she sabotaged Leni's driving test because she was afraid the others wouldn't need her for anything if Leni could drive. At the time, she told herself that she simply liked being needed. Now, she realized that she _needed_ to be needed, and giving rides was the only reason anyone _would_ need her. What _else_ could she do for them? What _else_ had she ever done? She sighed, she rolled her eyes, she took advantage of them, she pushed them around. She was a terrible bitch.

 _You're being too hard on yourself,_ a voice said from the middle of her head. Was she? Maybe. Everyone makes mistakes, right? It's human nature to fuck up now and then. But...had she done _enough_? Had she done enough for them, and herself? Time had gotten away from her. If she knew she was so close to the edge, she would have worked harder, given more hugs, made more of an effort to be there, to offer advice, to help with homework and chores.

Now it was too late.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them away. _You must be about to start your period,_ she thought to herself in a futile effort to make herself smile, knowing full well that she'd just finished last week. This wasn't hormones, this was the realization that comes to overworked fathers who wake up one morning and find a teenager where their toddler should be. This was the realization that comes to newly-widowed wives who hadn't looked at their husbands for more than ten seconds at a time in forty years. It was the simple realization that it was gone, all gone, and you barely even knew you had it.

 _Jesus Christ, knock it off!_

She was trembling when she pulled to the curb of the school. Everyone got out, saying goodbye to each other, and all she could do was watch them, her chest aching and her eyes watering. The van was so quiet now, so empty, so cold.

Just like her.

She drew a heavy breath, threw the van into drive, and started home; it was a senior-teacher workday, so she had _all day_ to herself, all day to sit in a big, deserted house and ruminate on what she could have done differently, how she could have been better, how she could have been less of a selfish asshole. The prospect made her heart beat and her brow leak. She saw herself walking from room to room, looking at her siblings' things, their personalities, and realizing that soon she wouldn't have them. She wouldn't have Luna's skull-cracking music, Luan's silly puns, Lynn's constant ball throwing, Lincoln's dopey comic books and action figures, Lana's toads and Lola's flitty, pink fairy stuff. All she would have were memories. She would visit, but it would no longer be _inside_ the circle of sisters (featuring brother): She would be an outsider.

She would have only memories of them.

And they would have only memories of her.

She would have _good_ memories of them. Would they have good memories of her? Would they think back to the time their big sister Lori did this or that? Would they smile fondly as they recalled the time Lori did x?

Terror filled her as she found herself thinking that they wouldn't. She had simply been a face in the background, a mysterious and elusive presence behind a door or a screen. She existed in their world like a tree. Not a mighty redwood or a promising sapling, but a run of the mill ordinary old _tree_ , entirely unremarkable, largely useless, there but unnoticed.

 _Stop this!_

She was certain that she was being too hard on herself. There is no such thing as perfection. Regardless, a painter does not reach the end of a canvas and not regret, a writer does not reach the end of a novel and not regret. More could have been painted, more written.

Regret. She was filled with regret.

If only she could do it all over again. If only she could write more.

At home, she sought out a pen and a notepad and sat on her bed. She listed each of her siblings' names. What did they like? Did she know beyond a rudimentary idea? Luan liked comedy. Okay. Who was her favorite comedian? Lori didn't know. Luna loved Mick Swagger. She talked about him constantly. Who _else_ did she like? _What_ else did she like? Surely there was more to her than rock and roll. The rock thing was the biggest aspect of her personality, the one that you saw when you looked at her; it was easy to see, but deeper? A sister should know this.

Lori did not.

Lynn was a sports fanatic. What was her _favorite_ sport? What was her favorite _team?_ Like with Luna, there had to be something else there, some passion, some likes, past sports. She wasn't a one dimensional cartoon character, after all, replete with a flimsy stock personality harried writers called good enough and never developed further. She was a girl, much as Lori had been, with her own hopes, thoughts, aspirations, and dreams.

And Lincoln... Lori could not say that she loved him more or most, but her love for him was different, unique, as he was the only brother she had. He stood out in the family, and her love for him stood out as well. She suspected that all of her sisters felt that way. Had she ever really _shown_ him how much she cherished him? Oh, sure, she could think of a thousand instances where they bonded briefly or shared a beautiful sibling moment, but time was coming to an end; had she ever articulated her love for him? Did he know that he was special to her? To _all_ of his sisters? Or did he see her as an eye-rolling bitch on wheels? A greedy, selfish ass who only considered, only _acknowledged_ his feelings when led by the nose? She remembered the time she accidentally broke his virtual reality goggles. It was literally his fault for leaving them in the middle of the floor, but she felt terrible, because even though she thought they were stupid, he had so much fun with them. She went out and bought him a new pair, and then later, found a note he had written before he knew she replaced them titled "Why Lori is the Worst Sister Ever" (or something). That made her angry...because it hurt. He automatically assumed that she would just go on as if nothing had happened instead of making it up to him. What made her angriest of all was that _maybe_ he had a reason to assume that. Maybe she _was_ an asshole.

She sighed. She didn't know. She was a cauldron of conflicting thoughts and emotions. The only thing she could say with any certainty was that she felt she had not been a good big sister.

Her phone buzzed. It was Bobby. "Do you want to do something?" he texted.

Yes, she did. She didn't care what. Anything to assuage the tempest in her mind.

"Love to :)"


	2. Suffer

**I posted an earlier version of this without acknowledging the impact AberrantScript's "Beautiful Corruption" had on the formulation of this story, especially chapter three, which finds Lori (briefly) wondering how to be a better sister. I owe this one largely to AS, whose work in TLH fanfiction is second to none.**

Lincoln Loud squirmed at his desk, his kneecaps touching and his testicles squeezing. It hurt, but his erection did not abate. If it anything, even more blood flowed to it. He checked the clock on the wall. Less than five minutes until the bell rang.

 _Go down, go down, please go down..._

If he was still hard when class was dismissed, everyone would see the bulge in his pants. The thought made his face burn.

The sad part was, he wasn't even having sexual thoughts. The last one that crossed his mind, the one responsible for his current predicament, was...what, almost half an hour ago? He looked at the clock again. It might even have been forty-five minutes ago.

It started when Mrs. Johnson was talking about The Underground Railroad. Lincoln was jotting down notes (while simultaneously working on a doodle of Ace Savvy in the margins). Mrs. Johnson said something and laughed. For some reason, that single laugh, low, womanish, made his stomach quiver. He looked up just as Mrs. Johnson turned to the board. She was wearing a shirt that stopped just past her knees, a heavy green sweater, and socks pulled high up her calves. She leaned forward, and the fabric of her skirt stretched across her butt: With a quickening pulse, he realized he could see the outline of her underwear.

He quickly looked away, but then his head slowly drifted back of its own accord. He forced himself to look down at her shoes, but his eyes wandered, climbing higher and higher, from the bare backs of her legs to the soft nape of her neck. An image came to him with the power of a bomb blast: Him gently kissing that neck, grazing his nose sensuously along the curve, his nostrils flaring with her smell. He rubbed himself against her behind, his bare, throbbing penis lightly tracing the dark, forbidden valley of her bottom, the swishing kiss of her skirt against his tip making his eyes roll back into his head.

He shook his head, damned himself as a pervert, and went back to his doodle, the pen trembling in his hand. He fought to keep from looking up again, but the temptation was great, and Lincoln Loud was weak. He lifted his eyes, and she was facing the class, a plain woman in her mid-thirties with red hair pulled up in a bun. Lincoln would not call her attractive, but he suddenly wanted to be in her arms, his head pressed to her bare breasts, drinking in her scent and allowing his hands to roam freely over her body. She would guide him, teach him, induct him into the hallowed halls of manhood with patience, care, and maternal grace.

Lincoln drew a heavy, shivering breath, his penis pushing insistently against his pants and underwear, fighting for release. How good it would feel to take it out and simply let the cool air touch it. The thought of being naked in front of her, as she sat on the edge of his bed, her legs crossed, guarding her garden of earthly delight, made his mouth run dry. She would guard it, but not for long. She would appraise his body, find him suitable, and open them.

 _Ahhh, stop it!_

He ran his fingers through his hair and took a series of deep breaths. He kept his eyes firmly on the notebook open before him, its lines crammed with his tight, tiny script, but he could not avert his ears, and now that he was thinking of Mrs. Johnson in... _that_ way, her voice excited him, like the melody of a siren. How he'd relish hearing it quiver as he pleased her, hitching and cracking as she lost control and gave in to his body, grabbing handfuls of her hair and moaning for him to go faster, faster, faster, until she jerked with her climax, her eyes narrowing and her face scrunching.

 _This is hell!_

No, it was puberty, but when you're young and haunted by the incessant phantoms of seduction, is there a difference? There was not, Lincoln decided. In hell, you could not escape the prodding of pitch forks and the licking of flames. In puberty, you could not escape the prodding of fantasy and the licking of desire. You could only hold on and hope you weren't swept away. You could only hope that you didn't accidentally catch a flash of one of your sister's breasts as she changed in her room, or that you didn't see one of your sister's nipples poking through the fabric of her dress. You could only hope that the girl you liked didn't sit too close, or want to hold your hand, because if she did, you would get an erection even though you weren't thinking of sex. You could only hope you didn't sit at a dinner table surrounded by girls and wonder what they would look like without clothes, because they were your sisters and you'd feel sick with shame, but even so, deep, deep down in your festering, lust-addled heart of hearts, you'd think of all the things you would do with them. In the light of day, the thought turned your stomach, but alone at night, the pressure of the day coming over you like a vail, your body burning and your mind haunted, you _liked_ the thought, you _liked_ that only one room away a girl was curled up under the covers, wearing only a thin T-shirt and no underwear. Even if she _was_ your sister, and even if she _was_ your sister, when your thinking was clouded by the smoke of your smoldering frenzy, she stopped being your sister and was just a girl. Soft. Warm. Sweet. You would ache to go to her, and slip under the covers with her, where it was warm, and you would ache to touch her body. And you would go faint at the thought that maybe she would let you because she felt the same mindless passion.

The bell rang, and Lincoln jumped. His erection was still raging, though he could feel (or hoped he felt) it beginning to deflate. The other kids grabbed their things and got up, but Lincoln remained sitting, making a show of closing his note book, stacking it on top of his chemistry book, and looking around for a pencil (or a paperclip) that didn't exist. Mrs. Johnson erased what was on the board, and Lincoln ignored her. He was going down. Thank God.

"Are you alright, Lincoln?"

He looked up. Mrs. Johnson was by her desk, looking at him.

"Uh, yeah, I just...I lost a paperclip."

"I have one up here if you need it," she smiled.

"No thank you."

His erection was fully gone now. He collected his things and hurried out into the hall, where kids pushed and bumped into each other. He went to his locker, opened it up, and shoved his things inside. He closed the door and turned, crying out when he saw a face there.

"Hey, Linc," Luan said happily. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Hey," he said, his heart pounding.

"Well, I just saw you and thought I'd say hi." She left, and he looked after her, touched that she would stop to say hi. Though he often saw each one of his sisters in the halls of Royal Woods Consolidated, they rarely interacted, which bothered him sometimes when he lay awake at night in the cold afterglow of release, when his mind was at its clearest. It also bothered him that he was an outsider to them. They were...a whole, a clique, even, a group of which he could never truly be apart. There were times, fleeting instances, where he felt totally alone, totally alien, a foreigner in his own land, an intruder in someone else's life. He sometimes wondered if he was adopted, if perhaps he could _smell_ the genetic dissimilarities in his subconscious, but he'd seen his birth certificate, he'd seen the pictures of himself in his mother's arms at the hospital. He was a Loud, but the feeling persisted, and sometimes it made him cry, because he felt like he just didn't belong.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, he sighed, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked to the cafeteria, threading through the kids still packed into the halls, his gaze downcast. Why did he feel this way? Why did he start to think his sisters didn't love him if they didn't tell him, or go out of their way to show it? Why couldn't he be happy and normal and well-adjusted?

Was there something wrong with him? He remembered the thoughts he'd had about Mrs. Johnson, and shuddered at how disgusting he was. There was fantasizing, then there was being a total pervert, and he, he decided, was a total pervert.

Did his sisters know?

He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart stopping with him. Could they sense it? Could _everyone_ sense it? He noticed that there were times he would...think of someone...a girl he knew and had friendly interactions with...while he was 'alone' and the next time he saw her, she was cold and distant. How many times had that happened? Twice? More? What if they knew? What if he gave off some kind of pervert stench and everyone knew?

Coincidence.

Was it? Was it _really?_

In the lunch room, he grabbed a tray and went down the line. He found Clyde sitting at the table they usually occupied, and was so happy to see a friendly face that he could have kissed him.

"Hey, buddy, what's up?" Clyde asked.

"The usual," Lincoln said with a sigh. He sat.

"The usual good or the usual _bad?_ "

Lincoln shrugged. "Both, I guess."

Clyde shrugged. "Guess that's life."


	3. Here and Now

They met at Pauly's Pizza on Pine Street, a tiny hole-in-the-wall eatery with sticky floors, no air conditioning, and bright booths with red vinyl seats that looked, to a one, as though Freddy Kruger got bored while waiting for his pie and played a sloppy game of tic-tac-toe on them. There was an ancient Ms. Pac-Man game cabinet in a little alcove by the front door, and when Lori entered, a boy in a baggy green shirt was furiously operating the joystick, slamming it from side to side as he navigated Ms. Pac-Man through a blinking blue maze. Lori looked around and spotted Bobby at a booth near the bathroom, bent over his phone. She smiled and walked over. "Hey, babe."

He looked up and grinned. "I was just texting you." He slid out of the booth and they kissed. She had been with Bobby going on eight months now, and every time he kissed her was like the first time, electricity dancing between their lips. She had kissed other boys in the past, but none of them ever made her knees buckle and her stomach twist the way Bobby did, and that was without tongue.

They sat across from each other. "I know I'm late," Lori said, "I'm sorry."

Before leaving the house (she was _literally_ at the front door) she decided she needed a shower. She had one the night before, but for some reason she didn't feel clean.

"That's okay," Bobby said, leaning back. "I already ordered. Hope that's okay."

"Pepperoni?"

"What else?" he asked, smiling. "Anchovies?"

Lori crinkled her nose. "Yuck."

Bobby grinned mischievously, a twinkle coming into his eyes. "Okay, maybe I _did_ order anchovies on it."

"You better not have," Lori laughed. "I will literally kill you."

"Hope you're ready for the next 25 to life."

His phone buzzed. He picked it up, looked at it, and typed. "Ronnie Anne," he said without looking up. "She says she isn't feeling good."

"Oh? What's wrong?"

"Headache," Bobby said.

Ronnie Anne got frequent headaches. They started when she was six and came at least three times a week. Her mother had taken her to a dozen doctors over the years, but none had found anything wrong with her. Stress, they said, tension, which made sense; they started around the time her father started losing himself to the bottle and taking out his own self-loathing on his family. Why they persisted was a mystery.

A man in a dark blue shirt and a red apron came over. "Can I get you something to drink, miss?"

"Coke, please."

The man nodded and rushed away.

"So, how's your day going?" Bobby asked, setting aside his phone.

She shrugged. "Alright. I really haven't _had_ a day yet. It's only like, what, 9?" She thought back to the revelation she had in the van, and her chest tightened. A frown must have crossed her face, because Bobby's brow furrowed.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," Lori said, nodding, "it's nothing. I just..." she trailed off. She just _what?_ Had some kind of existential crisis? Realized that she was rushing headlong into the void and she hadn't had a chance to say her goodbyes?

"What?" he asked, leaning forward, concern in his eyes. He took her hands across the table, and she could have melted. He was so sweet and caring.

Sighing, she said, "I just realized...in a couple months, I'm going to college, and...I don't know, I just feel like I haven't been a good sister and taking that step seals it, you know?"

"Aw, babe," he said, "don't feel like that. You're a great sister."

"Not really," she muttered. "I feel like I should have been more involved. In ways, my siblings are like strangers, and that's my fault because I was so caught up in myself that I didn't realize it would be over so soon."

"You and your family are so close, though. I mean, you had your ups and downs, but who doesn't?"

"I know, I just don't feel like I did _enough_ , like I wasn't there like I should have been."

"Well, you're not Supergirl. You can't do everything. I mean, when they needed you, you were there, right?"

"Yeah, but...I don't know."

He squeezed her hands and looked into her eyes. "It's scary, I know. Couple months from now, and we're adults, you know? Out in the real world. I think you're looking back so you don't have to look forward."

"Don't you feel like...soon you're going to be out of Ronnie Anne's life, for the most part...don't you feel like there's so much you haven't said or done?"

"No," he said, "because I don't look back and I don't look ahead. I look at the here and now. I mean, looking left or right is how you miss what's in front of you."

Lori let his words sink in. She turned them over and over in her mind the way one might examine an intricate piece of pottery. He was right, she realized. If you didn't live in the here and now, you _missed_ the here and now. If you lived in the past, you don't realize what you had until five or ten years down the road. When you live in the future, you rush past what you _do_ have.

The waiter came back with her Coke, and she disentangled her hands from Bobby's to take a sip. "I guess I'm weird," she said.

"No, you're not weird. Like I said, you guys are really close, so you're bound to feel messed up when you realize you're so close to leaving home. I mean, I'm messed up too. I don't think anyone's ever left home totally and one hundred percent anxiety free, you know?"

"Yeah. You're right."

Their pizza came. There were no anchovies.

"You got any plans for the day?" Bobby asked, slapping a slice onto one of the plates the waiter left.

Lori started to say no, but she realized that she _did_. She had something she had to do, something to make up for. "Yeah, errands."

Bobby nodded, taking a bite of his own slice. "My shift starts in a couple hours. I was kind of hoping we could take a walk in the park or something."

"I'm sorry," Lori said. Jeez, why couldn't she stop letting everyone down?

"Don't worry about it," he said. "This is good enough." He smiled, and Lori smiled too. She loved that Bobby could always cheer her up when she was down. It was a like a superpower or something.

When they were done, there was almost half a pizza left. Bobby boxed it up and handed it to her.

"I don't want it," she said, "I'm literally about to burst."

"Give it to your siblings then."

Now _that_ was something a thoughtful sister would do. Her? Nope.

Okay, so Bobby could make her feel like shit too, but at least he was cute.

"Alright," she said, taking the box. They walked outside into the warm sunshine and kissed.

"I'll see you later?"

"Of course you will," Lori said, smiling, and kissed him again.

They parted, and Lori was on her way to being a better sister.

* * *

When the final bell rang at 2:30, Lincoln Loud gathered his things and went out into the hall, searching the crowd for a familiar face. He saw kids he knew, kids he knew _of_ , but no one that he _wanted_ to see. Outside, in the warm air, he pulled himself out traffic and leaned against the concrete stairs, his books hugged protectively to his chest. After finishing his lunch, he spent some time alone in the bathroom, and the constant, pressing _need_ was dulled. The feeling that he was the perpetual outsider in his own family was not. Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, he watched as kids of every size, shape, and color streamed by, some to the buses idling at the curb, others spreading out into Royal Woods on foot. When he saw his sister Lynn, he nearly sighed with relief.

"Hey!"

She turned, and grinned when she saw who it was. "Hey, Linc!"

"Hey," he said again, "going home?"

"Yup," she said.

"Can I walk with you?"

Her brows knitted together ever so slightly. "Sure, why not?"

"Thanks," he said.

Lynn's step was quick and long. He had to powerwalk to keep up with her. Was she doing it on purpose because she really _didn't_ want to walk with him?

 _Of course not. Shut up._

"You hear about the fight?" Lynn asked, throwing a glance back at him.

"No," he said.

"Yeah, these two guys beat the shit out of each other." She laughed. "It was some real MMA stuff."

"Was it bad?"

Lynn shrugged. "I didn't see any ambulances, so it couldn't have been _that_ bad."

They were crossing the street now with a flood of other kids.

"It's such a nice day," Lynn commented. "Perfect for tossing the old pigskin."

Lincoln perked up. "You want to? When we get home?"

Lincoln did not particularly like football, but he wanted to spend time with her, wanted to be close to her, wanted to belong.

"Yeah," she said, brightening. "You feeling okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Because you never volunteer to play sports with me. I have to twist your arm."

Lincoln shrugged. "Like you said, it's a nice day for football."

She stopped and pressed her hand to his forehead. It was cool and dry. "No fever."

"Stop," he said, laughing. "I just want to...you know...toss the old pigskin around. Maybe get tackled into a quivering pulp."

"Well, we can arrange that if you want," Lynn said, and nudged him in the ribs.

Fifteen minutes later, they walked through the front door, and jumped when Lori appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Hi, guys!" she chuirrped. "How was your day?"

"Good," Lynn drew, her head cocked back.

Lori looked at Lincoln. "Yours, baby brother?"

"Uh, it was...alright." Lori's face was so close to his that he would be able to smell her breath if he sniffed the air. He did not...nor did he want to.

"Great! I got you guys something!"

She whipped out a basketball and shoved it into Lynn's arms. "I noticed your old one was getting, like, bald or something." She brought out a book and handed it to Lincoln. "I saw this at the comic store and thought you'd like it."

Lincoln looked at the cover. It was the Ace Savvy Compendium Volume 1. His eyes widened. "Wow! This thing costs, like, fifty dollars!"

"49.48," Lori corrected. "But it's worth it to see my favorite brother happy." She planted a kiss on his forehead, and he couldn't help but look at her strangely.

"Thanks," Lynn said, then looked at Lincoln. "Go put your book away and we'll play."

"What'cha playing?" Lori asked.

"Football," Lynn said.

"You guys want a snack first? I think we have Bagel Bites and _maybe_ Hot Pockets."

"No, I'm good, thanks."

"No thank you," Lincoln said, starting up the stairs, holding his new prized possession in his hands and looking at it with lustful eyes. In his room, he laid it on his bed, setting it down the way a man would set down a Faberge egg, being careful not to bend any of the corners. A sudden and genuine smile crossed his face. That was nice of her. And unexpected. Lori wasn't a huge gift giver. No one really was in the Loud house, since money wasn't the easiest thing to come by. 49.48? That was a _lot_ of money. And Lynn's basketball was easily another twenty. Did someone die and leave her a fortune?

Outside, he found Lynn drinking a Gatorade. When he walked up, she turned, the bottle lifted to her lips, and nodded. She brought the bottle down, sighed, and screwed the cap back on. "You ready?"

"I am."

"Alright." She picked up the ball and handed it to him. She backed up about fifty feet and held her hands up. "I'm open!"

He snapped the ball back and threw it: It spun through the air like a bullet. Lynn jumped up and snatched it. "Nice throw!" she said.

"Thanks!"

She threw the ball at him, and he ran backwards, catching it. He threw it back, and Lynn grabbed it. She glanced at the house, and Lincoln followed her gaze. Lori was standing by the back door, filming them with her cellphone. "No, don't mind me, play."

Lincoln and Lynn looked at each other.

Luan appeared behind Lori. "What'cha doing?"

"Taking a video," Lori said. She exited out of her camera and turned to her sister. "I got you something at the store today..."

They disappeared inside, and Lynn came over. "She's acting weird."

"Err...kind of," Lincoln said.

"She blew, like, eighty bucks on us, and it sounds like she got Luan something too. And when's the last time she took a video of us playing – or doing anything? What's she even going to _do_ with it?"

Lincoln shrugged. "I don't know," he said.

"You think she's trying to butter us up for something?"

Lincoln opened his mouth, but closed it again. Actually, yeah, that made sense.

"Maybe," he said, feeling disappointed.


	4. Cats in the Cradle

Lori doled out gifts to her siblings as they came home. They were all happy to have them, and Lori was happy that they were happy. At the end of it, though, she felt gutted, the way a child does after opening the last present on Christmas morning. Bobby texted her at 3:15, and, steeling her resolve, she went upstairs, sat her phone on the nightstand, and walked away from it. Sorry, Bobby; I'm busy.

Outside, Lincoln and Lynn still threw the football. In the kitchen, Luna was rummaging in the fridge for something to eat, wearing her new Mick Swagger T-shirt. "Hey, sis," Lori said, "hungry."

"Yeah, kinda."

"There's pizza in there."

"Oh, cool." Luna had seen the box sitting on the bottom shelf on top of a carton of eggs and a tub of butter, but she figured it was Lori's, and you don't eat another person's food, especially hers. She'd _flip_.

Taking the box, Luna turned, sat it on the counter, and closed the fridge door. She took a slice out and folded it. Must be from Pauly's; their slices were _huge_.

"How was your day?" Lori asked.

"It was alright," Luna said. "I got an A on my history test."

"Oh, good!" Lori said happily. "You doing good in everything else?"

"Yeah, pretty good." Luna slapped her pizza onto a plate, returned the box to the fridge, and started into the living room.

Lori followed.

"You got any plans tonight? Maybe you can play me some of your new stuff." Lori had absolutely no idea what new songs Luna had written; she just knew that Luna played her guitar fast and loud, and it got on her nerves.

Luna dropped onto the couch. "Actually, me and some of my girls are going to a show at this place downtown. It's pretty rad."

Lori felt a rise of disappointment. "Oh. Well...have fun."

"Thanks," Luna said, turning the TV on.

Leni came down the stairs and made her way through the living room. Lori stepped in front of her; they almost collided.

"Hey, Leni! You want me to do your nails later?"

"No, thank you," Leni said, "I have a dress I need to work on. It's part of my application to the Chicago School of Design."

"Oh," Lori said, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Maybe I can help."

"I don't know, it's pretty intricate. Even _I'm_ having trouble with it."

Leni passed by and went into the kitchen. "There's pizza if you're hungry!" Lori called after her.

Upstairs, Lori found Luan sitting on her bed, her legs crossed, furiously typing on her laptop. "Hey," Lori said.

Luan looked up. "Hey." She looked back down, her determined face bathed a soft electric blue. Her tongue was absently plastered to her upper lip in a display of concentration. She stopped, scanned what she'd written, and looked back at Lori.

"Do you...need me?"

"I was thinking maybe you could do your routine for me." She flashed a big smile. "Or try out some new stuff on me."

"Sorry," Luan said, "but I'm really busy. I have to write a five thousand word report on the cause and effect of the Great Depression."

Lori blinked. "That's...that's kind of intense for seventh grade."

"I'm in eighth grade."

Sigh. You don't even know what grade your little sister is in. You really _are_ pathetic.

Before her siblings got home, she sat down and drew up a list of things she knew about each one and things that she didn't, simple, elementary things that she _would_ know if she spent a little more quality time with them. She knew Luna's favorite singer was Mick Swagger. She did _not_ , however, know who Luan or Lynn's favorite singer was. Surely they had to have one. Everyone liked _some_ kind of music, right? She didn't know who Lincoln's favorite band was, though she was fairly certain the name had something to do with lips. Kiss? No, that was a silly name for a band.

So much she didn't know. It was depressing.

Apparently she should have added their grades to the list.

"That's what I meant," Lori said. "Still intense."

Luan shrugged. "I guess."

"Do you...need any help?"

"No, I got it, but thanks."

"Alright," Lori sighed. She went out into the hall just as Lisa emerged from the bathroom. She brightened. "Hey, Lise..."

"Can't talk, busy," Lisa said, going into her room and shutting the door, leaving Lori alone in the hall. Lucy!

Lori went into her younger sister's room, but she wasn't there. She checked under the bed, in the closet. Nothing. Sighing, Lori put her hands on her hips and looked helplessly around. If she was an eight-year-old goth, where would _she_ be? Somewhere dark and lonely.

Like the vents.

That's it!

Lori climbed onto Lucy's bed, removed the grate, and stuck her head into the shaft. There, just down the way, her knees drawn to her chest, a notebook balanced in her lap and a pen pressed thoughtfully to her chin, was Lucy.

"Hey, Luce!"

Lucy jumped, smacking her head on the roof of the shaft and letting out a tiny, frightened cry. She wheeled around, her hand flying to her chest.

"Sorry," Lori said.

"Now I know how you guys feel when _I_ sneak up on you," Lucy panted.

"What'cha working on?"

"A new poem."

Lori nodded. "Cool. What's it about?"

"A vampire who likes little girls."

Lori flinched. "Like...like-likes?"

"Yes."

She opened her mouth to say something else, but what could she say to _that_?

"You want to...read it to me?"

"It's not done," Lucy said. "It's not even really started."

"Oh. Okay. Where'd you get the idea?"

"A movie I saw."

"What movie?"

"The Vampire Next Door."

"Who's in it?"

"Robert Fronce."

"Who's that?"

"He played Eddie Cougar."

"Who's _that_?"

"Lori...you're annoying me." Lucy picked up her notebook and went back to writing. Wounded, Lori muttered, "Sorry," and got down, leaving her spooky little sister to her weird poems.

Was she being annoying? Was she being too...desperate? She thought back to the interactions she'd had with her siblings. She didn't _think_ so. She just wanted to spend time with them. That's all. Make up for not being the best big sister in the world. Make up for having her nose buried in her phone and for bossing them around and acting like she was Queen Bee because she was the oldest.

She bet _Bobby_ didn't do that. Bobby nurtured his sister and guided her through life and was there for her and would do anything in the world for her. You know who he reminded her of? Lincoln. Lincoln was like that. He was always going out of his way to do nice things and help people. Sometimes he got dragged into doing it, but usually he did it out of the kindness of his own heart. Why couldn't _she_ be like that? Why couldn't _she_ be like Lincoln?

Speaking of Lincoln, were he and Lynn still outside? Could they use a third person for their game? She went downstairs and got her answer when Lynn streaked past her, almost knocking her over. She dashed up the stairs and disappeared. Lori watched her go, then turned as Lincoln came into the living room. "What's up with her?"

"She has to...uh... 'bomb the bowl.'"

"Ew."

In the kitchen, dad was running around with a frilly pink apron on and looking lost. Lori went in. "Hey, dad, what's up?"

"Lilly's up from her nap and I'm trying to get dinner ready. I'm so overwhelmed."

"What are you making?"

"Beans and franks."

Lori crinkled her nose. She hated those damn beans and franks. But they were simple to make...

An idea struck Lori. "Go get Lilly and I'll finish dinner."

"Are you sure?" dad asked.

"Yeah," Lori said, waving her hand. "Go ahead."

"Alright," dad said, stripping out of his apron and throwing in onto the breakfast bar. "Thanks, sweetie."

"I love you," she said, and kissed him on the cheek as he passed.

"I love you too."

When she was alone, she went to the counter. A gianormous can of beans sat next to two packs of hotdogs. Lori stood over them for a minute, her hand on her chin. So...did he, like, boil the hotdogs and _then_ put them in the beans? Did he cook them separately, or did he cook them together? And did he cut the hotdogs up _before_ he cooked them, or _after?_ Probably after.

She got a knife from the drawer, cut the packs open, and put a bunch of the hotdogs onto a plate. Did he add anything extra? Like spices? She didn't think so. His beans and franks were pretty bland.

She started cutting the hotdogs, the chunks ugly and uneven. Maybe she could add some pizazz and be the hero of the night. What could...?

Wait a minute. Why was she cutting them up _now_?

Damn it.

Well, she was too far along to stop now. She finished cutting them up, filled a pot with water, and then sat it on the burner, which she turned on. She carried the plate over and dumped it in. She went back to the counter, got a can opener, and opened the beans. She put them in another pot and put them on a second burner. She then went to the pantry, opened it, and scanned the spice rack. She saw mustard seed, garlic powder, onion powder, cinnamon, chili powder, clove, and a bunch of other stuff. She didn't really look. She grabbed the garlic powder and the onion powder. At the stove, she sprinkled a little of each into the beans. Hm. Looked a little...skimpy. So she added more of both until the beans were coated.

After letting the hotdogs boil for a while, she turned off the burner and stirred the beans. They belched and splattered all over the stovetop and her shirt. Ugh.

When she was sure the beans were done, she took them off the burner, threw the hotdogs in and stirred it all together.

She went into the living room, quite proud of herself. "Oh, family!" she called out in a singsong voice, "dinner is ready!"

* * *

They were at the dining room table, a plate loaded with beans and franks before each of them. Lori insisted on serving everyone. "Dig in," she said, "I hope you like it."

Everyone took a bite almost simultaneously except for Lori, who hopefully watched their faces, hoping to see orgasmic rapture.

Instead, with a falling heart, she saw the complete opposite. Dad made a gagging face, mom's eyes widened, Luna spit it out, Lola coughed and nearly fell out of her chair, Lynn's brow creased, Lincoln fought valiantly to swallow, and when he had, he bent over, panting. Lana, who hadn't taken a bite yet, picked up a hotdog, looked at it, and plopped it into her mouth. Her eyes widened, but she swallowed anyway. "Aw, man, that's grody!"

"It's not bad," dad said, obviously lying.

Lori looked down at her plate, bitter disappointment coursing through her. She forked a piece of hotdog, lifted it to her mouth, and took a tiny bite: The overpowering taste of garlic filled her mouth, and she gagged.

"It _is_ gross!"

"I don't know how you did it, Lori," Lynn said, "but you made an even worse dinner than dad."

Lori broke down crying then. She covered her face, got up, and ran from the room. "Lori!" dad called after her.

At the table, everyone glared at Lynn, who shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"You hurt her feelings," Luna said.

"Way to go, waterboy," Luan said, crossing her arms.

"You're worse than _I_ am," Lola said, turning her nose up.

"Your sister went out of her way to make a nice dinner," mom said, "...and while she didn't exactly succeed, she _tried_."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Lynn said, "I was just playing around." A hurt look of shame crossed her face.

"I'll go talk to her," Lincoln said, getting up. He hated to see his sisters cry.

At Lori's door, he knocked. Beyond it, he could hear the muffled sounds of weeping. "Go away!"

"It's me," Lincoln said, "Lincoln. Can I come in?"

She didn't reply, so he opened the door and poked his head in. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, a pillow pressed against her face. Lincoln's heart broke, and he slipped in, fully aware that she could snap his head off but not caring. She was his sister and she needed him.

Approaching with caution, he sat on the edge of the bed, not exactly sure what to say. _Sure, your dinner sucked, but you get an A for effort._ For a long time he simply sat there, his hands on his knees. Then he reached out and patted Lori's leg, her skin silky smooth: He yanked his hand back, cussing himself. _Don't weird her out!_

"I'm sorry I ruined dinner," Lori finally said, setting the pillow aside. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were wet. There was a look of abject misery on her face, and Lincoln suddenly felt himself on the verge of tears.

"It's alright," he said, looking away. "It happens."

"I feel like such a failure," she said. "First with you guys now with this. I can't do anything right."

Lincoln looked at her. "What do you mean 'with you guys'?"

Lori looked away, and it was evident to Lincoln that she didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to press her. He wanted to respect her space and privacy.

"I feel like I haven't been a good big sister," she finally said, somewhat sullenly.

"What are you talking about? You're a great big sister."

"No, I'm not. I'm almost an adult and out of the house and there's so much I don't even know about you guys, so much stuff I haven't done and said and it makes me so sad." She grabbed the pillow and hugged it.

"Lori," Lincoln started, but didn't know how to continue. He looked down his lap and rubbed the back of his neck. "I-I think you're the best oldest sister a guy could have." He looked up at her. "And we've had a lot of good times. Come to think of it, there really isn't anything else I could ask for."

Lori continued hugging the pillow, listening. When he was done, she said, "I don't feel like I was there enough. I feel like I'm just...there...and the rest of you are all in this big group and here I am, above it all because I'm a stuck-up bitch."

"I feel that way too," Lincoln admitted heavily, then hastened to add: "I mean, I feel like you guys are a unit and I'm on the outside." He crossed his own arms, suddenly cold. "Sometimes I feel like I don't even belong here. Like I'm intruding in your lives."

Hot tears filled his eyes, and he fought to keep from washing him away.

"Linc..." Lori said, putting her arm around him. That one touch, and that one softly spoken word, pushed Lincoln over the edge, and the dam burst. Lori pulled him close, resting her chin on the top of his head. "Of course you belong here," she said. "Lincoln, we all love you. You're, like, one of the most precious things in our lives."

"I know," he said when he finally got the tears to stop. "I still feel that way. Like, I look around and I feel like this isn't really my home...and I think I'm adopted and how horrible that would make me feel because I'm not really your brother and everyone knows it but me and they don't love me the same."

"Linc," she said. Now it was her turn to not know what to say. "Why do you feel like that? You know you're not adopted, and we love you so much." She sighed. "In fact, sometimes I think you keep this family together, and it makes me kind of jealous because you're doing all that and here I am sitting on my hands."

"I know I shouldn't feel that way, but I do. I just...want to fit in."

Lori wordlessly hugged her brother as tight as she could, tears filling her eyes. How terrible to feel like a stranger in your own home!

It was her fault. She was supposed to be the rock of her siblings, but she failed them, and here was proof positive: Her brother literally feeling like he _didn't belong_ in the family. "I'm sorry if I was never the big sister you needed," she said. "But I promise you, Lincoln, I love you. We all love you. You belong here and we're so glad you _are_ here. You might stand out because you're the only boy...but we _need_ you."

For a long time, they clung to each other, neither one speaking, both enjoying the comforting presence of the other. "Come on," Lori finally said, wiping her eyes. "Let's go see if dad ordered a pizza. I'm starving."


	5. Climax

**I've changed the rating to mature because the big scene between Lincoln and Lori is kind of intense. At least that's what I was going for. So consider this your warning and don't complain in the comments if you see something you don't like.**

 _You belong here and we're so glad you are here._

Lying in bed, his hands laced across his chest, Lincoln Loud stared at the ceiling and played those words through his head again and again. He knew, of course, that his sisters loved him. They didn't always hit him over the head with it, but it was there. It was natural and it was beautiful. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he just didn't fit in. Her was like a deformed puzzle piece that _should_ fit, but did not. The pain wasn't as sharp now as it had been earlier...Lori's words had reassured him...but it was still there, stowed deep in a dark chamber of his soul, a nagging devil on his shoulder who rarely ever spoke, but always watched, and Lincoln was always _aware_ of being watched.

Lori said he stood out because he was the only boy. Certainly that was the root of his anxiety. He was different. He wasn't one of the girls. He was an island unto himself, even if he didn't want to be. He was an island that was loved, though, and for now, that was enough. This was his home. This was where he belonged.

He flashed back to Lori's room, how warm and safe he felt in her arms; nestled against her chest, everything else fell away until the world consisted of only him and her. He could _feel_ the love, and that made him smile now. He remembered her sweet smell and the feeling of her bare leg under his hand. His smile fell and he shoved that thought to the back of his mind. He didn't want to think that way about her. It wasn't right. It was a betrayal. He might as well walk into her room and spit in her face. Instead, he thought of her thinking she was a failure as a big sister. That she believed that made Lincoln's heart ache. She wasn't. Sure, she could be kind of mean and bossy, but that's how a big sister's _supposed_ to be, especially the biggest out of ten. What made her think she was a failure?

Well...what made _him_ think he was an alien?

The human mind is a funny thing, and even when you know there's a problem, you can't just snap out of it. He wished he could. He wished Lori could too. He wished she would realize what a great sister she was and that he would realize how much his sisters loved him.

He should really come up with a way to show Lori how much she meant to him. Hmmm. What could he do?

An idea started to form at the back of his mind.

In her room, Lori stretched out on her bed and put her arms behind her head. Leni was already asleep, draped across the bed in her street clothes. Her dress and all of her materials were still on the bed when she passed out, but Lori carefully moved them to Leni's vanity. Lori remembered when they were young, how Leni would fall asleep anywhere. They'd be in the car on the way home from a movie or a restaurant, and Lori would look over to see her sister with her chin lolling against her chest. She smiled at the memory. It really wasn't even that long ago. Ten, twelve years? Looking back, it felt more like twenty years.

A _fast_ twenty years.

Since this morning, she had been conscious of time slipping through her fingers. There was a time (and again, not that long ago) where an afternoon stretched into forever. An hour lasted all day, six hours might as well have been the far future, populated by robots and flying cars. Now, she looked back and realized that the entire day passed her by before she even knew what was happening.

She sighed and thought of Lincoln, her only brother, in his own room and probably still feeling like he didn't quite belong here, like he was watching from the sidelines as she and her sisters lived their lives. She didn't understand why he felt that way, even as the only boy, but she didn't really understand why she felt the way she felt either, so there was that. Maybe it was the sheer _number_ of sisters. Maybe if there were only four or six he'd be fine, but with ten...with ten what? He felt outnumbered? He felt like a ghost? An intruder?

Lori's heart panged with sorrow as she imagined how he must feel. How long? How long had this been going on? Weeks? Months? Years? Is there something she could have done differently? Should she have spent more time with him? Should she have gone out of her way to make him feel more included?

She should have. If the first woman in a boy's life is his mother, the second is his oldest sister. She bears an implicit responsibility to him, just as he bears an implicit responsibility to her. Lincoln bore his responsibility without complaint. Lori? She failed. She failed everyone, but she especially failed Lincoln, the second man in her life behind her father. God, she was a fuck up.

A horrible thought occurred to her. Do any of her sisters feel the same? Lincoln...he felt like an outsider. Could one of her sisters feel...like a faceless cog-in-the-machine?

Since they were all younger than her, she bore them as much responsibility as she did Lincoln.

 _I'm a mess._

She thought of her brother alone in his room, feeling unloved, unwanted, as though he were an outsider among his own family, and her heart cracked. She remembered the anguish in his eyes when he looked at her, the way his body shook has he cried. What was she doing? He needed her.

She got up.

And went to her brother.

* * *

Lincoln sighed and rolled over. He'd been trying to fall asleep for an hour now, but every time he cast his mind adrift, it conjured images that kept him from dropping off, images of Ronnie Anne and Mrs. Johnson and images of Lori and Luan (where are _they_ doing in here?). The latter two bothered him the most. He saw himself kissing Lori, and it excited him, not just physically, but spiritually as well, something that didn't happen when he thought of kissing other girls. The same thing with Luan. In his mind's eye, he saw himself kissing them hungrily, desperately, pressing himself, every square inch, against them as if trying to absorb them, or as if trying to allow _them_ to absorb _him_. What if...? he lost his train of thought as the door creaked slowly open. Heart in throat, he turned as a dark figure slipped into the room, softly closing the door behind it. It came to him and knelt on the bed, the mattress sinking with its weight. Lincoln turned his head, his eyes wide, and saw Lori, her face framed by her golden hair. He blinked. Was he dreaming?

A strange expression crossed her face, and she pursed her lips. "Linc...you look so sad."

Lincoln blinked again. Did he? He didn't know.

She pulled back the blanket and got under it with him, her bare leg brushing his and sending a shiver up his spine. He swallowed hard. She settled on her side and looked at him. "Are you alright?" she asked.

His heart was racing. In his briefs, his penis twitched, and he bared his teeth, willing it to stay down. "I'm fine," he croaked. He forced a weak smile, and rolled onto his own side so that he and Lori were face-to-face, only a matter of inches separating them. The warm smell of her hair caressed his nostrils, and her warm breath tickled his neck. In a spill of moonlight falling through the window, her face was soft and troubled, her brow knitted.

"I...I wanted to see how you were," she said, then reached out and touched his face. He jerked and involuntarily recoiled.

"Lincoln," she said, "what's wrong?" There was a pleading in her eyes

She stroked his cheek, and his breathing became ragged. He imagined touching her, running his hands slowly up and down her silken legs, taking in every curve and contour. He was hard now, and he hated himself. She came to comfort him and he popped a boner. What a piece of scum. He _deserved_ to be an outsider. He _deserved_ to feel out of place...

"Open up to me, Linc," she said, "I'm here for you."

Lincoln swallowed again and opened his mouth, but closed it again. He couldn't tell her. She'd hate him and never want anything to do with him ever again, and while she would be right to do so, he didn't think he could handle that.

"Please?"

There was so much hurt and desperation in that single word that his resolve to remain silent crumbled. "I-I've been having strange thoughts about you," he said. "And Luan, and Lynn."

Lori's brow furrowed. "Like...sex thoughts?"

Shame and self-loathing washed through Lincoln. He opened his mouth to speak, but he knew that if he did he would cry, and he didn't want to cry in front of Lori. Again. He nodded.

"Lincoln," he said, "that's normal."

"It doesn't feel normal," he said, "I feel like a pervert and a piece of shit and like you'll hate me and I'll deserve it."

Lori's face scrunched slightly, her heart breaking. "I could never hate you," she said.

"Yes you could."

There was such misery in his eyes. She couldn't stand it. Seeing this beautiful, charming, considerate, thoughtful boy in such torment would literally kill her.

She touched his face. Their eyes locked. She leaned in and took his bottom lip between hers. His eyes widened and his body went rigid. She pulled back, looked down into his eyes, and said, "I love you, Lincoln." She leaned in again, tilting her head, the tips of their noses brushing. She touched his lips with hers, and they opened to admit her tongue, allowing her to explore his mouth. Electricity crackled, and Lori's heart went pitter-patter against her breast.

For a shocked moment, Lincoln simply lay there, then, coming awake, he kissed her back, one of his hands going to her cheek, into her hair, strands slipping through his fingers. She shivered and giggled into his mouth, goosebumps racing up and down her arms.

When the kiss broke, she tossed her hair out of her face and smiled down at him, her breath as short as his. The look of astonishment on his face was adorable.

"Did you like that?" she asked, already knowing from the crazy beating of his heart that he did.

He nodded.

She took his hand in hers and pressed it to her breast. "Do you feel that?"

He nodded again.

"I liked it too."

She shifted onto him, planting a knee on either side. His erection rubbed against the crotch of her shorts, and a lightnining bolt of sensation struck her mind. She bent down and kissed the tip of his nose, then his forehead, then the corner of his eye. She moved down (the tip of his shaft grazing slowly, maddeningly, down her soft center) and kissed his cheek, his neck, his skin salty with sweat. He was panting heavily now. She smiled, sat up, and stripped out of her shirt, tossing it aside. His eyes got even wider as they crawled across the swell of her breasts. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her chest, their warmth spreading across her and igniting a fire in her stomach. She threw her head back and moved her hips against him.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Yes," he panted.

"What do you want to do next?" she asked, looking down at him.

He chewed his lip, a look of uncertainy in his eyes.

"Whatever you want, Lincoln," she said.

"I-I want to touch your body."

Grinning, she rolled off and lay next to him. He rolled onto his side and drank in the sight of her naked chest, her flat stomach, the soft V pointing to her most secret place, the place she intended to share with him.

He hesitated, and she smiled. "Touch me."

Nodding, he laid one trembling hand on her stomach, which quivered under his touch. He left it there for a moment, then slowly slid it north, leaving a trail of burning desire in its wake. He cupped one of her breasts, and she sighed.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked worriedly.

She shook her head. "No. You made me feel good."

Nodding, he trailed his hand back down her stomach, and Lori shuddered, the spot between her legs, the spot never before touched by another, getting hotter, leaking in anticipation. When he reached the band of her shorts, he stopped, and Lori could sense his hesitation.

"Take them off," she said.

He hooked his fingers into them, scratching her soft flesh as he did ( _God, I'm so close_ ). He pulled them down her legs slowly, and she bit her bottom lip as the fabric grazed her fevered flesh. He pulled them around her ankles, and she was nude, her body bared before her brother, the cool air flowing over her, tantalizing her like phantom fingers. She rubbed her legs together and let out a soft, whispery moan.

Opening her eyes, she looked down at her brother. He was on his knees, staring down at her passage, wonder in his eyes. She smiled and opened her legs, giving him a better view. "Do you like it?"

"Yes."

He shifted, and she felt his hands on her inner thighs. _I'm so hot down there I might burn his hand._

He traced the lines between her legs and her public mound, and she hissed over clenched teeth. He cupped her in his hand, and the warm pressure made her eyes roll into the back of her head. She grabbed a handful of the sheet and dug her heels into the bed.

"Lori?" he asked tentatively.

"Hmmm?"

"Can...can I...?"

"Please."

He shifted, and in a moment, his arms were splayed on either side of her, the throbbing tip of his member pressed faint inches from her opening. She reached down, took him in her hand (so warm, so hard) and positioned him. Then she let go and nodded.

He entered her slowly, his breathing fast and shallow. He probably wouldn't last long, but that was okay; neither would she. He scraped against her inner walls, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. He either thrust or fell the last bit, and she winced as her hymen popped. It was pain, but of the sweetest kind.

Slowly, he pulled back and then thrust again, spearing her core. She jumped, and moaned. She could already feel the pressure rising, ready to boil over at the slightest breath of movement. She was rushing up, up, up, nearing the mountaintop, and in her foggy mind, she knew it would be a long, long way down.

Lincoln was panting hard, his body quaking against hers. He thrust one more time, and Lori reached the summit, her body spasming and hot fire radiating out from her core, enveloping her entire being. Her walls clamped down on Lincoln, and in the moment before he finished, he had a revelation: In this moment, he was as close to Lori as anyone could ever be.

* * *

Afterward, Lincoln fell asleep in Lori's arms. They talked for a while, their voices sleepy. "How do you feel?" she'd asked him, her hand resting on his chest.

He looked at her, his brow furrowed as he tried to find the words. He thought back to the fantasies he'd had of his sisters. He knew now that he had them not because he was attracted to them, but because he desperately wanted to be _close_ with them, and when he was with Lori just now, they were one: One breath, one whisper, one heartbeat...one flesh. It was something deeper than sex. It transcended sex. Sex itself didn't matter. What mattered was the joining together of souls. He felt closer to Lori than he had to anyone ever. He knew her in the sweetest and most intimate way possible.

He tried to articulate these thoughts, but fumbled.

"I know what you mean," she said.

Now, toward dawn, Lori slipped out of his bed and returned to her own room. Alone under the covers, she stared at the ceiling, her being in turmoil. She thought of Lincoln's beatific smile as he slept in her arms, and her heart swelled, but it also broke. He was so young, so innocent, and she destroyed that.

She thought of what he said about feeling closer to her. What if this is what he needed to not feel like some kind of alien? A deep, profound connection? A becoming of one?

An idea came to her then.

The only problem: Would the others go along with it?

 **Well, that's it. If the ending seems a little sudden, that's because it is. See, the thing about writing is, and I'm sure a lot of you can understand this, is: What you start with is not always necessarily what you end with. I was more than half way through this story when I realized I wanted to take it in a different direction than the one I planned. After this scene, there was going to be a lot of drama. I wanted to handle the idea of incest realistically, with Lori so ashamed and disgusted that she couldn't even bring herself to look at Lincoln. They were not going to be together. They would eventually come to terms with what happened, but only after a lot of moping and self-loathing, and frankly, the idea was starting to depress me, so I decided to change it, but so much so that it will not be the same story you signed on to read. This story is not billed as a harem story. The sequel will be. Lori will get the sisters to help Lincoln feel more included in the family. It is called '"Better Sisters." I'd continue the story here, but, like I said, that might not be entirely fair, so a new one it is, which is not something I relish, as my story list is starting to get clutttered again, and every time I got to it I feel overwhelmed. Guess the doctors were right, I _do_ have a touch of OCD.  
**


End file.
